Blood Torture
by darksupernatural
Summary: Sam and Dean separate to tackle two hunts in town. That never goes well for them. It's up to someone who cares to save them from a different kind of monster. Can he overcome his own difficulties and save his boys?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So in all the talking that I do with Peanut, she gave me a certain challenge, oh, almost a year ago. I've finally finished it. Don't think it quite does it justice and I'm not sure that I followed it exactly, but since I started it as soon as she gave it to me, lost the muse, then finished it in the last two days, that's saying something. Just not sure what. I'll give you the prompt at the end and it can be your decision. This is set before Bobby gets his legs back. **

**Anyhow, enjoy!**

**Blood Torture**

"There are two hunts in town Dean. Both of them are goin' down…tonight. Full moon is tonight and across town the banshee has two victims to go after yet. They both have to be stopped."

"I don't like the thought of splittin' up Sam. I'm gonna call Bobby and get him on the horn with one of the other local hunters to take the banshee."

"Last I heard, there was a Shtriga in Bismarck too. There's no way they can make it here before moonrise."

"I still don't like this. I mean, haven't we proven, again and again, that we don't do well apart?"

"We have to Dean. I can't sit back and let someone else die." Sam said, his eyes pleading with Dean.

Dean sighed. "Alright, Sammy."

"Thanks." Sam said, practically running to the table in the room where all of the research for both hunts rested. He handed Dean the research on the Banshee.

"One condition."

"What?"

"I'm takin' the werewolf." Dean thrust the research back at Sam and crossed his arms over his chest.

"No. Dean…"

"That's the only way I'm lettin' you outta my sight Sam."

"It's too dangerous!"

"And you think I was gonna let you go after the sonuvabitch?" Dean's arms flew wide.

Sam got quiet, his eyes drifting downward. "When the trickster killed you that time…that Wednesday that lasted forever… after you were gone I got reckless. I hunted a werewolf. Alone." Sam huffed a distracted laugh, lost in the memory. "Damn near bit me. I wound up breaking his teeth with the butt of my .45 before I put him down."

"Damnit Sammy…" Dean said, trailing off as he realized that Sam had every right to do what he had to do. After all, Dean himself had and it was only a day before he sold his soul. Sam had been alone for months.

Dean sighed. "Alright, look, let's take the hunts together. I don't like the thought of splitting up. You've said it yourself before, we can't save everyone. Maybe the werewolf won't get lucky until after we gank the banshee."

"Can we really take that chance Dean?"

"Yes, we can Sam!"

"NO! I CAN'T!" Sam stormed across the room, gathering up silver rounds and his pistol.

"What the hell are you doin'?"

"I'm going hunting." Sam went to the door and burst through it, slamming it in Dean's face as he strode across, intent on stopping Sam. The Impala fired up and spun it's way out of the lot, tires screaming as it pulled onto the road, headed across town.

Sam eased from the car, heading for the trunk where he grabbed his pistol, donning a wrist sheath with a long silver knife. He locked the Impala and made his way along the waterfront to the pier where he knew the werewolf would be hunting tonight. The silvery moon was high in the sky and Sam saw the buildings surrounding him and the surface of the ocean in a kind of stark, glowing relief.

He slowed his steps, his silver pistol being lifted from his waistband as he heard something metal crash around the corner. Growling reached his ears and he stopped at the corner of a warehouse, peering down the narrow alleyway along side the building. He cautiously stepped around the building when the growling sounded out again, followed by the sound of something metallic rolling. Two dogs fought at the base of spilled trash cans each vying for the edible bits the starving animals could find.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, cut short when a growl from behind him had him spinning around, trying to get the gun up. The glowing eyes of a man nearly Sam's height had him stepping backwards involuntarily. He felt harsh, warm breath against his neck as the beast growled, jagged teeth grotesquely twisting the still human features.

Sam fired the pistol, the silver bullet going wild as the werewolf lunged and took him hard to the wooden loading dock beneath him. Sam grunted, bringing up his arms to protect his neck and face from the teeth of the werewolf. Sam's hands closed on the man's shoulders, one slipping up to push the snarling face away. A shot rang out and Sam felt the body on top of him flinch and fall forward. The man landed heavily on Sam, clawed fingers narrowly missing scratching their way down his neck before they dug into the wood beneath his ear.

"Grahh!" Sam shoved at the dead werewolf, hearing the heavy man's teeth recede to normal human lengths next to his ear. His stomach lurched at the sound, a cross between a slurp and a grind and he jumped again as he felt the weight lifted from him and rolled aside. He looked up, seeing someone looming over him, a hand thrust in his face, fingers flat and palm cocked to the side as if reaching to help him up. He took the hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. He faced the wiry man.

"Thanks." He said, catching his breath. He looked at the hunter as the man gave a low chuckle.

"No problem at all, Sam." Sam gave a startled grunt as the butt of a pistol connected with his temple. He fell back to the wooden floor, blood pooling beneath his face from the split in his skin. The hunter raised an arm and motioned to the hunters who stepped out from behind crates and dumpsters along the waterfront building. One of them quickly dumped salt and lighter fluid on the werewolf's carcass, lighting it up and bathing Sam's still form in firelight and shifting shadows as he and another disarmed him and picked him up between them. They grunted as they had to support his weight, the toes of his boots digging into the pier as they dragged him off.

Dean walked up to the stone house. The historic property was well maintained, a groundskeeper working in the ornate gardens along the side of the lush yard. The man nodded at him and Dean nodded back before he lifted the lion's head door knocker and let it tap against the brass plate beneath. A woman in a maid's uniform opened the mahogany doors. "I'm here to see Robert McNamara." Dean said.

The maid eyed Dean up and down, a smirk tipping her lips up. "I assume you're the one he warned me about." Her Latina accent muddled the words just a bit but her musical tone got Dean's attention.

"He warned you about me?"

"Yeah. To get myself out of your way. I'll show you to him." Dean stepped through the door behind her and she led him through the foyer and down a hall through another set of double mahogany doors.

"Mr. McNamara, your appointment is here."

"Thank you Julia." The dark haired man with gray at his temples looked up from the laptop computer on his rosewood desk. The Latina maid nodded and left the room.

"What do you think you can do to help my family?" he asked, sounding like he had laryngitis.

"Well. You got a problem. Something is killing the men in your family and your family is down to two men. You and your grandson."

"And you know who is doing this?"

"Not who. What." Dean said.

"What?"

"A banshee."

The man stood, his hand wrapping over the edge of his desk before he straightened his suit and walked around to lean against the front of it, his slumped posture making him barely an inch shorter than the hunter.

"You're insane."

"Believe what you want, but I can stop this thing, and you won't die tonight."

The man straightened, and looked at Dean eye to eye. "Doesn't matter. You're not stopping anything." Dean slumped, falling into the man before he slid to the floor. A gruff man in a canvas Carhartt jacket lowered the rifle, blood dripping off the stock from the back of Dean's head.

"Might have worked if the screamin' bitch hadn't already finished the job an hour ago. Let's get him back to base." The rifle bearing hunter nodded, tapped Dean in the head with the toe of his boot and stooped to grab his shoulders as suit grabbed Dean's legs. He was hauled outside and tossed into the back of a gray cargo van. Suit and the other one slid into the van, the Latina "Julia" now in jeans and a dark coat behind the steering wheel.

Sam moaned, his chin lifting from his chest. His head lolled as he fought to control the dizziness that the motion elicited. He opened the eye that wasn't swollen shut, the room dark around him. A harsh light came on above his head and he couldn't help crying out as the glare forced him to close his eye against the pain in his skull.

"I see it's awake." a gravelly voice rang out in the darkness beyond the light's reach.

"Wha-what d'you want with me?"

"A little birdie told me something about you, Sam. Seems you had something to do with what's going on around the world right now."

"I-I don't…Who are you?"

"You're avoiding the question." He replied as he stepped beneath the edge of the cone of light cast by the fixture Sam sat beneath. Sam blinked, trying to get his good eye to focus on the man he didn't know. He saw him, dimmed and blurry from his one eyed perspective. Wavy dark hair, just with a hint of gray at the forehead and temples capped a malice filled face. Gray eyes glinted coldly as they caught the light from above Sam's head.

"Someone told me you were ground zero when someone cracked the door on a very, very, old gilded cage that was never supposed to be opened. That right Sam?"

"I…I didn't…." Sam stammered. Sam never saw the fist coming at him until it connected with his jaw, sending his head snapping to the right. "Guhh…." Sam brought his head back, wobbling on a neck that he couldn't make work properly. He blinked moisture from his good eye and spit blood from his mouth, feeling the torn tissue on the inside already begin to swell.

"Who are you?" Sam ground out, spitting again, this time narrowly missing the man's boot. That earned him a kick to the knee cap which made him feel sick.

"Name's Yeats. You might remember me from that little book your daddy kept. Then again, maybe not, because we didn't exactly see eye to eye on a few things." Yeats circled closer to Sam, towering over him. "See, when I found out a long time ago that little Sammy Winchester had a posse of freaks gunnin' for him, I told John Winchester to drown you in the nearest lake. Your daddy didn't like that too much." Yeats said as he pulled his collar down and showed Sam an old scar across his throat.

"I know you started the apocalypse, Sam. I know you got a lot of good hunters killed when Demons started crawlin the walls waiting for orders. I'm gonna see that you stop what you started." He motioned towards what Sam thought to be a warehouse door behind him and he heard booted footfalls echoing into the room that he was in, along with the jangle of chain and the rustle of other things he couldn't see.

"Please! I didn't….know what I was doing! I just…wanted justice!"

"Make sure there's no way he can escape, until we're ready for him. And make sure he's… compliant… when you begin." The hunter who had walked into the light grinned evilly as he sat down a plastic kit that resembled a gun case at his feet. The chain dangled in its loop around the hunter's shoulder, much like a coil of rope would have. He lowered this to the wooden floor beside the kit and stooped in front of Sam, dark eyes lighting up as he gripped Sam's jaw roughly and squeezed, more blood pouring from Sam's forcibly parted lips.

"So you're the one responsible for getting my brother killed?" He said with a sneer on his thin face that made him look like a rat. "You know he and I, we used to torture things like you, just to find out what the game plan was. Didn't expect one of those things to have the balls to come back and turn on us. Gonna be fun, what I'm gonna do to you."

Sam heard Yeats leave the room, then Rat let go of his jaw and he heard the clatter of the chain again, soon feeling the cold weight settle around his torso and arms where the rope was. He heard a padlock snick closed at his back.

"Please…You don't wanna do this." Sam near whispered.

"Are you kidding?" Rat sneered. "This is exactly what I wanna do."

Sam saw him slide brass knuckles onto his hand, then felt the breath knocked from his lungs as that same hand plowed into his stomach between the loops of chain. Rat's other fist drove into Sam's chin, snapping his head painfully backward against the top of the chair. Rat dropped the brass to the floor with a harsh clang and reached for the plastic kit, just as Sam managed to bring his head back under his control. The two latches snapped open and Rat removed a piece of rounded rubber tubing and the light glinted off of several syringes filled with dark liquid.

"What's … that?" Terror struck Sam when his mind cooperated enough to answer his question for him. Rat flipped open a pocket knife one handed and quickly sliced through both of Sam's shirt sleeves. He tied the tubing around Sam's bicep. "NO! NO! DON'T!" Sam yelled, "DON'T!" As Rat plunged the needle of the first syringe into Sam's vein.

Dean's pounding head finally cleared as he sat uncomfortably bound to a chair, blinking blearily at his own lap. He felt blood slowly drying on the back of his neck. Random noises around him in the darkness revealed that he was in some kind of multi-roomed building. The thumps, muffled human voices and sounds of various actions made him realize he wasn't alone. He heard every thing go silent except for one voice that took over, just low enough that Dean couldn't make out the words.

He struggled to listen to what he heard in the next chamber, but his heartbeat pounding in his ears made him miss much of what was said. Dean fought to calm himself. Dean heard boots thumping into the dark room where he sat bound painfully to the chair.

"Who the hell are you? What do you want?" Dean asked the shadowed figure.

"Oh, I have what I want. Now I just have to get it to _do_ what I want." The gravelly voice, a familiar one to Dean, said from the dimness.

"You?" Dean said. A light switch clicked and Dean was quickly blinded, his head reacting violently. He finally got his eyes to adjust and saw the man from the fancy house with the banshee problem. "Who the hell are you?"

"I found a little case nearby. Was gonna take it on 'til I found out you were interested in it. So I just let it finish off what it started, then I decided to have a little fun role playing. See, I've been looking for you and your…brother… for a long time. Then I found out what that freak started and that you were gonna walk right into my sights. And, well, it was just too good to pass up. And too easy once I realized you and your brother had split up."

"Where's Sammy?" Dean growled. "What the hell did you do to him?"

"I'm not doing anything to him. Just making sure he realizes just how inescapable his destiny is."

"Screw you!" Dean struggled against his ropes. "Where's my brother?"

The man held up a hand, silencing Dean. "You should find out, any second.

"_NO! NO! DON'T! DON'T" _ Dean heard Sam's cry echoing through the rooms around him.

"What the hell are you doin' to my brother?" Dean cried, struggling against his ropes again, even harder than before. "You hurt him and I'll kill you! You hear me, I'll kill you!"

The man quickly moved in and punched Dean straight in the nose. Dean's head snapped back, making him choke on the blood that suddenly gushed down his throat. He lowered his head to his chest and coughed, bringing blood and mucus up to bubble over his lips.

The man chuckled and kicked Dean in the chest, knocking his chair backwards. Dean's head hit hard and his world spun, blood from his injured nose being jarred out of his throat to splatter on his face and the floor next to him. The impact made his head throb, and his chest reacted to the blow by quickly tightening and making it hard to breathe.

He gestured to the three who walked in behind him, a younger version of himself, another young, scruffy hunter named Randy, and the Latina woman moved in and sat Dean back upright in the chair, the ropes biting into Dean's skin as he was jostled around. His head slumped against his sternum and he remained still.

"He wakes up, make his time as our guest…memorable."

Bobby Singer's fingers grasped the pistol laying inches from his hand on his desk when he heard the whisper of air in the Library where he sat. Castiel appeared with the brush of wings and the rustle of canvas.

"What the hell do you want?" Bobby grumbled, laying the gun back on his desk and looking at the disheveled angel in the suit and trench coat that never changed.

"Dean and Sam were supposed to meet me and they haven't shown up."

"Well, why don't you go scare the life outta them instead of me then?"

Castiel remained silent, and Bobby answered his own question. "You hid them a little too well didn't you?"

"Apparently so. I have been calling his cell phone for several hours. The last time I spoke with him, he and Sam were hunting…"

"A Banshee and a werewolf about four hours North of here. Yeah, I know. I told them about the hunts. Got another one handling something in Bismarck. Seems to me like every thing creepy crawly is climbin the walls."

"I think something has happened."

"What are you blabbin about? Those boys can handle a spook and a glorified sheepdog in their sleep." Bobby stared down the angel. "You're really worried about them." He made it a statement.

"Can you trace their cell phones?" Castiel asked.

"In my sleep." Bobby rolled to his computer, an ancient looking thing that looked like it couldn't even turn on anymore. He fired it up and sophisticated software started processing data that he entered on the screen that looked like it was good for nothing but a boat anchor.

"Think you're right." Bobby said a few minutes later. Last location on the boys was right in the middle of the hunts, then…nothin'."

Castiel circled the computer to stand beside Bobby, looking at the screen. He put his hand on Bobby's shoulder and they disappeared in the flutter of wings.

"Damnit, Columbo, you ever do that to me again and so help me I will find a way to kill you!" Bobby growled, as his stomach finally caught up with the rest of him.

"Who is Columbo?" Castiel asked, unfazed by the gruff hunter's threat.

"Nevermind." Bobby realized they were in a sheltered location, and that their "entrance" hadn't been seen by any passersby. Feeling a little less like knocking the angel's block off, he gestured to the wharf across the street, and the big storage warehouse nearby. "There's the boys' car."

"I cannot sense them. The Enochian sigils on their ribs protect them from detection." Bobby watched the warehouse near the Impala, his eyes narrowing when someone he vaguely recognized come out of the warehouse and light a cigarette. Bobby realized who the man was.

"Think I know why we can't find the boys." The hunter said, memories of the person he was looking at and the falling out that almost got him killed, flooding his mind. "They're in some deep crap. We need guns. And you need to go and knock his ass out. Now."


	2. Chapter 2

******A/N: Don't own the boys. Just playing really rough with them. I have to give them back when I'm finished. Enjoy Chapter 2. Chapter 3 up next.**

**Chapter 2**

Bobby Singer maneuvered his chair in behind Castiel, the angel opening the door of the warehouse silently, without so much as a gesture, while he had the unconscious ringleader Yeats in a fireman's carry over his shoulder. Bobby had a double barrel sawed off shotgun resting in his lap. The gun was modified, holding six shells instead of the usual four. He let the chair freewheel down the slight incline to the warehouse floor and controlled it at the bottom, the tire tread rubbing his now familiar calluses.

He motioned to the angel to follow him and rolled down the dimly lit corridor where he heard voices, one muffled yet still the unmistakable sound of one very pissed off Dean Winchester, and the other he vaguely recognized, but couldn't quite place. He stopped at the edge of the room that housed one of his boys, and lifted the gun, ready to fire on Dean's assailant.

"I don't understand you, man. I thought your daddy raised ya better'n this. Lettin' monsters roam free when they're right in your sights." The hunter drove a fist into Dean's jaw, snapping his head to the side. Dean's head bobbed, blood leaking from his lips to fall into his lap. His chest heaved and he spoke.

"Sammy's not…a monster…he's m'…brother." Dean lifted his head, unable to stop it from traveling further back as he fought to stay conscious. "He's more of a man'n you are."

"Not for long." The hunter sneered, pulling back a meaty fist and driving it into Dean's face.

"Richie!" Bobby barked. The hunter spun at the sound of Bobby's voice and the shotgun discharged, lead shot knocking the hunter off his feet as it plowed into his stomach and legs. "Get Dean!" Bobby yelled, leveling the gun on the fallen hunter and his buddies, five more shells ready to fire. The angel moved, dropping Yeats unceremoniously on the floor and kneeling by Dean's side, waving a hand over the ropes that bound his hands behind the chair back. Dean slumped, Cas catching him. Gage, the rat faced hunter, came running into the room and Bobby fired on him before he could, taking the gun from his hand with a blast of buckshot that had him cradling bloody fingers and screaming from his knees on the floor.

"Cass…" Dean whispered, blood dribbling from his lips.

"Easy, my friend." Cas said as the angel helped Dean stand, slinging an arm over his trench coated shoulders and steadying him until he found his feet. Dean blinked blood from his right eye, focusing on the situation in front of him. He stepped away from the angel, wavering slightly before gaining his footing, disarming the other hunters. He effectively covered all of the hunters with the two pistols. "Bobby." Dean said. "Sam's here. I heard him." Bobby freewheeled forward with a quick flick of his wrists and caressed the gun laying across his knees, the hat pulled low over his eyes doing nothing to hide the glimmer of barely contained fury. He tapped the barrel of his gun on Yeats' forehead. The hunter woke abruptly, staring into the dual voids of the barrels.

"Okay Boys, we're goin' for a little walk. Pick up the trash there," he gestured to the two hunters that were down, "and hightail it into the other room. An' jus' remember, ya try anything, an' you won't have to worry 'bout shot. I don't think that's what's in those guns on ya now."

Two of the hunters picked up Richie and held him between them, walking across the warehouse, followed by Bobby, Dean and Castiel.

They walked, and rolled, up on the hunter's backs, Bobby firing into the ceiling of the warehouse. Julia jumped, and turned to glare at Bobby. She wound up glaring at the business end of the shotgun, quickly turning back around and continuing to lug Richie into the other part of the warehouse.

Bobby held the shotgun on the posse of hunters, led by one he knew as Yeats, while Dean skirted them and rushed to his brother's side, lifting his head from his blood stained chest. "Ah, God."

Sam's face was littered with cuts and bruises, his eyes swollen shut, lips split and oozing. A deep cut went from his hairline down to the corner of his left eye, the soft tissue there already red and inflamed. Black streaks edged their way from beneath his collar up to his face. They ran along his corded arms, starting at the reddened injection sites that littered both Sam's arms at the inner elbow. Dean lowered Sam's head gently and whirled, a red haze slowly building on the edges of his vision.

He grabbed Yeats by the coat collar, snarling as he shoved the ringleader away from his group. "What the hell did you do?"

"Screw you, Winchester." Yeats snarled, spitting on the concrete floor. "Didn't get anymore'n he deserved. Fuckin' freak." Dean slammed Yeats into the loading dock ramp, the heavy cross tie digging into the burly hunter's back.

"I'm gonna ask you one more time. What the hell did you do?"

"Yeats, the boy means business. I suggest ya answer 'is questions." Bobby said from the background, his voice an even timbre, but Dean easily picked up on the thinly veiled tension… and threat that was in the tone.

"Eat me. He should be dead. He's the same as every other piece of crap that we risk our lives to take out! He started the damn Apocalypse! He turned hell loose on us and you still side with him, _a monster_! If ya ask me, you're no better'n he is!"

Dean took half a step back and Yeats straightened, thinking he'd struck a nerve. Dean spoke quietly, a thinly veiled challenge in his tone. "You're right. You know why? He's not the one who started the apocalypse. I am." The smirk left the hunter's face, replaced by shock that was quickly followed by fear when the barrel of Dean's Colt brushed the tender skin between his eyebrows as Dean pulled back the hammer. "What are you gonna do about that?" Dean said in a near whisper, his face close enough to the hunter's to smell his nervous sweat. Yeats spluttered, falling silent.

"Now, last chance. What did you do to my brother?" Dean menaced, the gun digging in harder.

"Fuck. Off."

Dean snarled and whipped the pistol just inches to the right and fired. Yeats howled and fell to the floor, clutching a hand to his profusely bleeding ear.

"Demon blood!" Yeats cried, his voice overly loud from being deafened as blood poured from between his fingers. "We shot him fulla demon blood! Gonna use him…against Lucifer!"

Dean saw full red, and lowered the gun from it's position aimed at Yeats' head, firing again and burying a bullet between the hunter's legs deep into the concrete floor. Dean crouched in front of the hunter, jerking the man upright by his collar, forcing him into a half sitting position. "You come near my brother, Bobby, or me, again and I swear to God, I'll bury a bullet in your brain. Do you hear me?"

The hunter nodded quickly, paling at the rage that crossed Dean's features. Dean fisted his collar tighter and jerked him closer, face to face. "I said, DO YOU HEAR ME?"

"Yeah." Yeats swallowed hard. "Yeah. I hear ya. Off limits." Dean slammed the hunter's head into the blood stained concrete at Sam's feet. The man groaned and laid still. Dean turned and stood, addressing the other hunters.

"You heard what I said. Same goes for the rest of you sonsabitches. DO YOU GET ME?"

The all nodded, Bobby's shotgun barrel still trained on them.

"Take your…buddies… that can't walk their own asses outta here and get the fuck outta my sight. I see any of you again, I. Will. Put. You. Down." Two of the hunters, Randy and Gage reached slowly down and hauled buckshot bearing Richie to his feet with a groan, ushering him between them out of the warehouse.

The one remaining hunter, Yeats' son, grabbed his father's sleeve as he stood and jerked him out of Dean's sight.

"Kid." Bobby said, handing the shotgun off to Cas and rolling forward as the angel stood there looking puzzled at the gun in his hand. "Hey. Dean?"

Dean seemed to snap out of his stupor and glanced down at his old friend before turning and going back to Sam's side. Dean crouched again and lifted Sam's head, cradling his bruised cheek.

"Demon blood, Bobby. They jacked him up on demon blood. God Damnit." Castiel opened his mouth, silenced before he even spoke by a glare from the gray haired hunter.

"Not helpin' here, Columbo." The angel fell silent and just stood awkwardly.

"C'mon kid. Let's cut him loose, getcha both the hell outta here and see what we can do. Alright?"

Dean nodded wordlessly, shifting so that he could release his baby brother from the bindings holding him to his chair without allowing him to slump to the floor. "Damnit! There's a freakin padlock on the chain!"

Castiel stepped around and held his hand over the padlock and the surrounding links of the iron chain. Dean watched as it rapidly turned to rust, disintegrating to dust and falling harmlessly to the floor. Dean removed the loose chain and cut the ropes beneath. Sam slid free of his bindings, blood staining his wrists and Dean's fingers, and collapsed into Dean's arms as the oldest Winchester clutched his brother to his chest.

Dean lifted Sam's head again and looked at his brother's face, carding fingers back through the chocolate locks that hung in Sam's face, brushing it away from a deep, bleeding cut across his forehead. He released his hold on Sam's cheek and his brother's head came to rest against Dean's shoulder, leaving Dean feeling the too shallow puffs of warm air against his neck.

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam and heaved them both upwards, Sam's full weight coming to rest on Dean. He grunted, trying and failing to stifle it completely.

"Dean?" Bobby questioned, picking up on the noise.

"I can't carry him." Dean said quietly. "I think my ribs are messed up."

"Allow me Dean." Castiel said, stepping forward.

Dean's arms tightened on his brother. "You hurt him and…" He broke off, realizing who he was talking to. A loud bang followed by a _whoosh _and a quickly spreading red orange glow interrupted him. "They lit the place up! Get him outta here!" The angel took Sam in his arms as if he weighed nothing instead of his over two hundred pounds, and ran from the burning warehouse, the loud, single flap of powerful wings putting out the fire that burned across the exit. Dean followed quickly, pushing Bobby's chair over the charred concrete of the loading dock, smoke making his lungs burn. He coughed before fighting the urge down, his ribs protesting loudly.

A gunshot rang out in the night, the bullet shattering spokes in Bobby's wheel. "Sonuvabitch!" Dean cried, pulling his pistol and firing in the direction the bullet came from. More shots rang out as he covered Bobby until the older hunter hauled himself the couple feet into the car. A strangled cry broke over the din and Dean knew one of his bullets met it's mark. Castiel and his brother disappeared with another flap of wings.

He circled to get in the car, and felt a burn across his upper arm. He hissed, diving behind the wheel as he fired the engine and slammed it into gear. Bobby just managed to shut his door, leaving his broken wheelchair behind. Dean glimpsed his brother lying in Castiel's arms in the back seat and that was all he needed. He floored the accelerator as three bullets buried themselves in the rear windshield and the trunk. Dean didn't slow down until he left the town in his rear view mirror.

Sam made a small whimpering noise, his breathing still to shallow, Dean saw when he glanced up, seeing his ashen face and Castiel's stoic expression.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Maybe you should pull over." Cas said, looking helpless and holding Sam awkwardly.

"What? Why? Is he okay?"

"The demon blood is reacting to my presence. My continued proximity to him will cause him pain."

Dean pulled over and stopped the car, heaving himself from the driver's seat and opening the rear door. "You're gonna have to drive then."

Castiel looked horrified. "That is not a good idea."

"Tough. God knows what your angelic freakin' teleporting will do to Sammy, and not only will I throw up all over that ugly ass coat of your's but I'm just pissed off enough to enjoy it!" Dean slid carefully into the back seat and shifted Sam off the angel. Dean made Sam's large form as comfortable as possible against his chest, ignoring the twinge in his ribs. "Now drive!"

The angel disappeared and reappeared in the driver's seat, staring through the windshield. He garnered a stare from Bobby and an annoyed growl from Dean.

Suddenly the gearshift moved and the rumbling engine revved, the car pulling out with a squeal of tires. All the while the angel stared straight ahead as the steering wheel rocked back and forth to negotiate turns and the brake and gas pedal moved accordingly. The older hunter in the passenger seat watched incredulously.

Sam's head shifted against Dean, and he pulled his eyes off the back of Castiel's head, looking down to see his brother's pain filled blue greens open and overly bright.

Sam's mouth moved. "'msor'."

"Shh, shh."

"T-tried….t'fight…" Sam's eyes drifted shut and a shudder worked it's way through him. Dean picked his brother up higher against his chest.

"It's alright Sammy. I know ya did."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Dean walked away from the bed, wiping bloodstained hands on the already pink rag clenched in his fingers. "How is 'e?" Bobby asked, backing the chair, Cas had materialized, up and turning away from the window, salt canister sitting in his lap. He nodded his head once when he saw that Dean looked a lot better than he had when they'd come to the cabin. Vague and already fading bruises marked Dean's face where, before, his eye had been useless and his lips split deeply.

"Beat to hell. Cas healed the worst, but he can't do anything for the freakin demon blood." Dean sighed and tossed the bloody rag onto the rickety table top. It slid several inches before stopping, leaving streaks of moisture across the dark wood grain. "I think he's gonna be okay. He just needs rest."

"An' the demon blood?"

"I don't know. He's…he's exhausted, hasn't woken up since the car. Tremors…" Dean practically fell into a chair at the table, propping his elbows on the table and burying his face in his hands with a stifled groan. "His freakin' muscles are starting to twitch…cramp up. It's almost like…"

Dean trailed off when a cry sounded out from the small bed. He jumped up from the chair, sending it clattering to the floor as he ran to Sam. Sam was sitting up on the bed, chest heaving and body shaking as if he'd just woken from a nightmare. Dean slid to a stop against the bed and sat down, taking Sam by the shaking shoulders.

"Shh. It's alright Sam. You're out. You're safe." Sam slumped forward, head coming to rest on Dean's collarbone. Bobby looked across the one room cabin just in time to see Dean's arms tighten reflexively around his brother. He bit off the question on the tip of his tongue and watched his boys.

"De'n."

"Yeah dude." Dean eased Sam back to the bed, watching the younger man's head sink into a pillow smelling of dust and stale sweat. Sam swallowed hard and his eyes closed, lines of pain tightening the skin at the corners.

Dean stood from the bed, squinting when a breeze entered the cabin and Castiel appeared. "The cabin is secure against demons and humans alike. How is Sam?" The angel asked.

Dean looked at his brother and Cas followed Dean's gaze, seeing the sweaty skin, the minute tremors starting to ripple beneath the skin on Sam's arms, the previously deep tears and bruising now just faint greens, yellows and healing pinks.

"I am sorry Dean." His blue eyes seemed to bore into Dean's, searching.

"What for?"

"When I applied the Enochian symbols to yours and your brother's ribs, I didn't realize humans would pose a threat."

"Ordinary humans wouldn'ta." Bobby broke in. "These were hunters. Scared, misled hunters that thought they could stop it all."

"You sound like you're sympathetic to those sonsabitches!" Dean broke in, his voice loud. Sam started in his troubled sleep.

"Dean." Castiel said, raising his hands but keeping his voice soft, his position near the hunter intentionally non threatening.

"NO!" Dean whirled on his hunter friend, his eyes lowered to meet the man in the chair, but glowing with green fire. "You're gonna sit there and tell me that you freakin' _agree_ with what they did?"

"Damn it, Dean, I'm not sayin' that!" Bobby roared. "I wanted to take every one'a those bastards out back and put 'em all down for what they did t'you boys! All I'm sayin' is there's a lotta hunters out there and there's more than them that feel the same."

"Dean." Sam broke in, his voice not heard over the hunter's agitation. "Stop."

"I might be down, but I'm far from out, boy. An' I love ya like yer m' own but I WILL kick yer ass if y' don't change yer tone with me."

"Bobby." Sam pushed himself up on his elbows, unseen by the hunters. Castiel turned silently and Sam met his eyes, begging the angel for help. A trench coated arm slid behind Sam's back and helped him push himself up. Sam pulled in a breath. "STOP!"

Both Dean and Bobby jumped where they were, all eyes turning to Sam. The youngest Winchester slumped against Castiel, pain making him close his eyes tightly. He finally breathed slowly and his eyes opened, moisture making the blue greens shimmer.

"Please, guys…stop…fighting, please. I can't…"

"Sammy…" Dean stepped forward and took his brother from the angel, who stood off to the side, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Okay. Okay." Dean laid Sam back on the bed. "It's alright Sammy."

"No it's not, don' fight with Bobby. It's…he's right."

"Sam." Bobby said, rolling forward just a couple feet. "I didn't mean t'…"

"No Bobby, it's alright. You're right. I know that." Sam's eyes closed and opened, the whites around the color were reddened. "I know what I did and I know there's people out there…good people…who died because of it, because of me. All I can do is try to make it right. Try to stop it."

"Sam, you didn't do this alone." Dean said.

"No, but I finished it. Now I have to stop it. I have to." Sam's face paled, lines becoming pronounced around his mouth and his eyes.

"Just rest, Sammy. We'll deal with this when you're stronger."

Sam's eyes closed, the small tremors in his limbs continuing even as he slipped off into a fitful sleep.

"I'm sorry Bobby." Dean said, glancing at the older hunter, then at the floor, feeling shame that he hadn't felt since he was ten.

"Don't be sorry, boy. I know you'd do anything for that kid. I'd go to hell myself for him. And we will do anything to keep him safe. We just gotta do it together, when we're all ready."

"Well, I guess old Ironsides just put me in my place." Dean smiled down at Bobby.

"Idjit." Bobby gruffly said, a rare smile tipping up the edges of his mustache.

**A/N: Well, there it is. This is the last of the unfinished ones on my computer that I've found something to do with, but picked up on another one last night. So hopefully, if you can put up with me disappearing for a month between posts, I'll have more to come.**

**Prompt: Sam and Dean get separated. Word spreads among local hunters that Sam started the apocalypse and that he's alone. They go after Sam. He becomes hunted. Dean, on a hunt that he quickly realizes is a ruse, rushes to help his brother when he finds out hunters have him. He gets caught and incapacitated. It's up to Bobby to save the boys from a new perspective, his wheelchair.**

**No hospitals. Motel room fix up only. Concussed Dean, Sam gets the worst. Bobby has to realize he's not useless just because he can't use his legs.**

**Leave me a review and let me know if I did my sis justice with her challenge!  
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